State of Alarm - day Seventy Three

Today was a little cooler and cloudier, with light wind, which I suppose is just right for Pentecost Sunday. I woke up late for first antibiotic of the day, ate a little, then as the sun was starting to rise and the dawn chorus competition between cockerels and dogs was starting, against the background of the dawn chorus, I had this idea.

I stood the Sony HX90 on the balcony railing and held it there while it ran in movie mode for just over three minutes, to record these early morning sounds. I thought this would be a good setting for a Pentecost Prayer, which I had yet to write but had ideas for. Although I haven't really had the time and energy to master the Windows 10 video editing app, I noticed that it gave to option of adding a sound track, and thought I'd experiment. I returned to bed and dozed for two hours,  then listened to BBC Radio 4 Sunday Worship, coming from Cardiff's Elim Pentecostal Church in my former parish of St John the Baptist. It was nice to hear local accents again.

After saying Morning Prayer and the words of the Pentecost liturgy, I couldn't stay awake. Although I didn't feel physically tired, I was still very sleepy, and didn't get up until midday. I assume this is just part of recovery. After lunch, I recorded the script for the prayer which I'd written in dribs and drabs through the morning when awake, then added the audio to the trimmed video file. It turned out to be simpler than I thought, except that there no instructions to speak of, and I had to work it out by trial and error. I was pleased with the outcome, uploaded it to YouTube and sent the link to Dave at teat time. I was pleased to be able to honour the day in this way, even if nobody but me would have minded if I didn't upload anything. Soli Deo gloriam. 

No serious return of the sensations of trauma just suggestions, linked to wound discomfort. While the wound is still swollen and sore, it is less so, and requires a lot of attention to keep comfortable and fend off those dark anxious clouds which had dogged me for two weeks without realising what was happening. Know your enemy! I did a 7km evening walk with no difficulty, and as ever the exercise did me good, plus the extra dose of fresh air we got today.

Anthony came over for another chat this evening, he'll be moving in downstairs tomorrow, once he has handed over a dog he's been looking after. This will change things for me, hopefully take my mind off the dark clouds. Taking plenty of extra rest seems to be vital.


 returned to bed

State of Alarm- day Seventy Two

I woke up to more physical improvement on day five of the antibiotics after a good night's sleep, but still with a sense of anxiety and insecurity clouding my brain. threatening to drive me to tears with nothing specific to cry over. Things are sorting themselves out slowly. Anthony is coming to stay in the spare flat down at ground level in this house, a 'just in case' measure suggested by the chaplaincy council, as there's no guarantee that improvement won't be followed by another setback. It will be nice to have company. I think this is a good idea.

Solveig came, bringing a cooked lunch with her. I was already cooking having forgotten she'd said this. She also brought me my next lot of prescription meds, and a pack of wound dressings to try out, as the one's I brought with me for eight weeks are coming to end. After lunch, I felt the need to lie down and relax quietly for a moment while the coffee was brewing. I relaxed but wasn't aware of falling asleep, perhaps I did. Solveig went out on an errand. In fact, throughout I felt fully awake and relaxed in the still silence as if in a trance. When Solveig returned I heard her and got up, aware that the toxic dark emotional cloud had gone from my mind, leaving me feeling clear sharp and ... as normal as I'll ever be.

As far as I am concerned, only God hands out gifts like this, far more discretely than Santa! But I do know that I'm being prayed for here across Ibiza, in Cardiff, at my beloved Ty Mawr Convent, and other places too. Lying there conscious was like the sensation you can get, floating perfectly in a swimming pool. Upheld by prayer? No doubt. In the past few days when I didn't have energy to read the Daily Office, all I could do is say the Jesus Prayer and our Lord's own prayer, and let myself be carried on the prayers of others. 'Members of one another' St Paul calls it.

Then we drove down to Cala Conta and walked along the bear to the 17th century watch tower I took a photo of from the top of Sa'Atalaya. It's a three kilometer trek to the headland along the pine clad cliff edge, stunningly beautiful in perfect weather. All my photos are here. In the harbour boats were full of local youngsters partying. Speed boats were out joyriding, and paddle boarders were out enjoying the absence of wind and waves. 

Normally, the island beaches are full of foreign holidaymakers, and these young people are working to serve them. Holiday flights aren't likely to re-start for several more weeks and there's no work. Lock-down has eased enough except at urban beaches to enable local people to treat this free time as a holiday respite before the work season begins. The competing heavy sounds of disco music pulsating from different craft isn't my taste, but happy voices laughing and chattering certainly is.
For a few moments at the start of the walk I wondered if I'd be OK, if I'd drunk enough water etc, but this gave way to the rhythm of the walk and taking pictures, The clearheadedness remained and there was no hint of fatigue. What a blessing! 

If the cloud returns, I know what I need to to do prevent it from having a nasty impact on me. I have long known how to let my head clear. It's not a technique I can describe to others, but it's wherever God is - a still silent holy place inside. It's what St John of the Cross speaks of in his poem made into the  Taize chant. 'De noche, eremos de noche, que para encontrar la fuente' This Spanish phrase aroused my interest in learning the language. I'm still taken with the fact that 'encontrar' is used both for 'to meet' and 'to find' - 'We go by night to meet/find the Source ..' only thirst lights the way. It's enough to give space to this need, to put it first, then God acts in God's unique subtle way  

Mild PTSD symptoms due to this ailment of mine are part of what I must live with until the physical causes are put right and even if there's no recurrence, there's no cure for those memories. Letting go of them straight away, not letting myself to be distracted by anything else is essential. It's just as you'd do if you accidentally took a poison, you'd quickly make yourself get rid of it. But on your own it's impossible, and it's fatal if you don't see the need.

By the grace of God today I broke out of a toxic vicious cycle I didn't know I was in. The Almighty is a practical teacher if needs be, but His aim is to enable you to learn for yourself, remember and use what you've learned.

After supper Anthony called around to say hello. I haven't seen him since that first Sunday lunch at Sarah's after I arrived, just before lock-down. We chatted for an hour and agreed it would make a welcome change to have company and a neighbour to chat to. He moves in on Monday.

State of Alarm - day Seventy One

I had a broken night's sleep, partly due to the wound exuding messily in the dead of night, but also as a result of this sense of anxiety, which may be related to the vagus nerve stimulus, rather than my state of mind. I got up and took my first pill of the day at six, but couldn't settle, so I got into work mode, and by lunchtime had completed and sent off the week's audio uploads. My mind is now clear and sharp again and I can think. I'd been dithering over a sermon for days, but when I began writing I had a satisfactory draft quicker than usual. 

I was preoccupied by the notion that if I continued to feel this unwell, I might fail to deliver. I'm sure everyone would be kind and understanding if I did, but increasingly, reflecting upon my life has taught me how fear of failure is a driving force, even though long ago I have 'given myself permission to fail' as psycho-babble jargon asserts.

As the day wore on the wound leaked a lot more, inconveniently as I had an idea about taking a taxi to St Antoni for a medical check up. Leakage resulted in improvement of my physical condition through the day, and once I was relived that my work load was done, I thought I would relax, but not so. I was intermittently and uncharacteristically weepy, and still replaying events and prospects in my mind with an internal sense of dread. I've been here before, I thought. I was in the same state of mind when I was alone and sick in Montreux with two important weddings to see through, two Sunday and two weekday services to do before my home flight. I was in pain and full of infection which was untreated, despite the surgeon I saw getting drainage going. Déjà vu.

The same pattern of circumstances, the same feeling of helplessness trapped by my own infirmity while trying to deliver promised services driven by fear of failure. Well, well, well PTSD embedded in my own habitual behaviour, and me not recognising it. It's bad enough, not being able to see the wound which has given me such trouble, but not to notice the emotional wound! I know what healing needs to be prayed for now. And that's a start, breaking the vicious cycle.

I had a surprise call from Archdeacon David who'd evidently had news of my misfortunes, and also a call from my sister June, as even worried about her 'little brother'. Pauline is still hanging on in there, but is weak and will take an age to recover if they get the treatment right.

State of Alarm - day Seventy

Slowly the pain subsides, but the swelling diminishes more slowly. There's a lot of nasty fluid to be discharged yet. I worry about it and wonder if I should return to Urgencias and ask to be examined again. I wish I could do something about my high anxiety level. It's bearable if I have work to focus on, preparing for Sunday, but sometimes I am just too tired to be busy. I try to sleep, and normally I can relax deeply in 26C heat, but not now.

I was able, despite the discomfort in sitting, able to craft an Gospel Alleluia acclamation and Psalm 150, using texts recorded by herself in German, and her ancient local parish priest, in Castellano and Ibiceno, the local dialect. I was surprised and delighted at the outcome. Given my state of mind I expected this task to be hard labour, but somehow it wasn't. The Lord and all those people praying for me kept me going, doubtless.

Talking of which I had a message from one of the Ty Mawr sisters to tell me I had been prayed for at Evensong the night before. Associates and Oblate's names are each written down on an origami paper crane kept in a basket on the chapel altar. Each night one is drawn to be prayed for. It couldn't  be more timely.

Amazingly my sister Pauline is still alive, conscious and conversing, even talking about a return to home in Weston when she recovers. She's a strong spirit, accepting that her time is near, yet glad to be given a few days extra time. We may speak again, but will I ever see her again in this life?

At teatime, Jayne called by with groceries and pills I'd asked her to get for me. I can't drive if I can't sit down. Such a nuisance, but I am so grateful for her help.

Before bed Ashley called, we haven;t chatted for more than a week. It was Julie our Secretary, who reads this blog (hello Julie!), who alerted him to the downturn in my condition. It's lovely when friends write or call, and therapeutic to respond to talk with them, except that it leaves me fighting off exhaustion, I don't understand why.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Nine

Woke up with some slight general improvement. I can move around without muscle agony for the most part, but am still swollen and can't set down. The draining continues, hopeful faster than it is building up. Trusting the antibiotic to do the job is all I can do.

Got some of the preparatory work for Pentecost Sunday moving. I have the seeds of the sermon but not a lot of creative energy surplus at the moment. It's probably being used up on managing anxiety, which can be generated by vagus nerve stimulation from localised pain. Up until last week it had all but disappeared. The new inflammation has brought it back, but not yet as bad as before.

The result of representations made to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office from Kevin Brennan our MP and Eluned Morgan via the WAG has resulted in a response from the Consular office head trouble shooter. Hundreds and hundreds of words and hyperlinks, merely cut and pasted from government sources accessed by our family over the past couple of months. Flights today and on Friday are mentioned without acknowledgement of the fact that we were conned into booking BAe by the promise of none stop flights. Fridays takes 24 hours in three stages.

The government tries to suffocate people with too much information which avoids answering the question and confuses issues. I wrote a detailed reply sayings and complaining about the lack of proper accountability when it comes to accuracy of information provided by HMG and FCO . I don't suppose it will achieve anything, but I felt the need to give critical feedback, and vent my ire. I am joining the ranks of the legendary 'Disgusted of Tonbridge Wells'

Jules rang at teatime to say his mother probably didn't  have long to live after the heart attack she had the other night. He said I could ring her as was conscious and lucid, but for how much longer he wasn't sure. I phoned her and we chatted a few minutes. As she was wearing an oxygen mask her voice was muffled, but it gave me a chance to tell her I love her and had always appreciated her as a big sister. I asked if she'd like me to pray a blessing over her and she said yes please eagerly. As I prayed I broke down in tears so I'm not sure she understood everything, but she knew I was praying, and will continue to do so, until I hear she's died.

I was grateful knowing that it wasn't a covid death, and that she has been conscious of heart trouble for months past, because we spoke of it when I rang her on her birthday. The day of my arrival in Ibiza. Yet, with son Jules and her brother at the end of a phone and not holding her hand, he and I joined the world's grieving legions separated from family and friends in time of need, having to entrust their beloved to strangers. Thank God Nicky has been there, her pillar of strength.

By this time I really needed fresh air and a walk, I went to 'Es Cuco' for fruit and frozen fish, having found an insulated bag in the back of the car, although it turned out the be falling apart. I made do with it to buy some salmon, just this once. That was just enough. Grief is exhausting.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Eight, later

A day of warm winds, sun and cloud. I woke up early, took my antibiotic and returned to bed for another three hours. The improvement is slow and steady, and the amount of washing of self and clothes needed increased. I relieved myself of the need to keep checking the cistern is full enough by turning the well pump on for half an hour. It's now completely full.

The toxic pain in my head is less, but down below is still very swollen and painful. I seem to have plenty of strength but need to tackle everything at a modest pace. Solveig came over to check me out in the evening, and bring me some things I needed from the Pharmacy. She also brought some delicious goodies for supper, including a wondrous bowl of ripe apricots, I shall cook them, half a dozen at a time, in a little water without sugar, but maybe experimenting with different spices - cinnamon, nutmeg, chilli?

I had an email from my nephew Jules in Dubai late Monday, or was it Tuesday? My time-line is fractured at the moment, to say his mother, my sister Pauline is seriously ill in Bristol Royal infirmary. And it's not covid-19. Her local general hospital in Weston super Mare is over-run with covid patients and closed to all others. Her daughter Nicky is able to be with her but Jules is stuck in Dubai, under strict lock-down rules.

Afterwards we walked several kilometers and enjoyed the sunset. Impossible not to feel sad at the thought of not seeing my lovely elder sister again in this world.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Eight

I work up yesterday after more than ten hours of sleep, aware that painful swelling had developed in the muscles close to the wound, with my head still foggy and hurting. This confirmed the worst fear which I had when I arrived at Can Misses yesterday. It was just the way I felt when things went bad for me in Montreux two years ago, Maybe there was nothing for the examining doctor to feel or see. There is now. I spent the day lying down or walking around the house to check if it was changing. No chance of being about to sit down.

In the evening, Jayne drove me to the Urgencias in St Antoni, and the doctor who examined me soon realised the truth of what I was saying. He gave me a week's course of antibiotics also some pain killers. By ten thirty I was back at the house, eating a nice dish of veggie pasta which Jayne thoughtfully brought with her.

I slept, and as ever I woke up several times, each time my head was clearer and ached less, evidence that the antibiotics were starting to work. The wound leaked nasty looking fluid and hurt horribly. It might have been even worse without the pain killer I took before sleeping. After ten hours in bed, I got up and had breakfast, grateful to have physical strength and a clearer head. The main thing now is to be very disciplined about taking the pills and doing enough gentle exercise to help the muscle to expel the rest of its nasty payload.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Seven

Saturday I wasn't feeling as good as I usually do in hot weather, with a slight headache, unusual for me. By lunchtime Sunday, after morning prayer and worship, I felt worse, so I went for a walk and felt worse still. I wondered if I was de-hydated and drank lots of water, but it made no difference. In the evening Solveig came over so we could walk along the coast path. I asked her if she could bring a thermometer and a blood pressure machine with her, so that I could check my vital signs, just in case I'm harbouring some wound related infection.

My temperature was slightly higher than normal, but my systolic pressure was higher than it was when I came home sick from Montreux the September before last. There was no alternative but to call for an ambulance, which appeared after an hour with a driver and a paramedic on board. I was pnly partly able to communicate in Spanish as my brain was scrambed, so I very grateful Solveig was there to translate. I was taken to the 'Urgencias' department of Can Misses hospital in Ibiza, and arrived about half past nine.

I was checked by a nurse, and thankfully my systolic pressure was dropping below danger level. I had to wait a while to see a doctor. There was one other patient in the ambulatory treatment room, sitting up on a chair, anchored to a drip, so it was quiet. The first doctor I was was a young woman who spoke far too fast and not very clearly, perhaps she was tired. She gave up trying and went to look for an English speaking doctor. He was also young and his English excellent, which meant that I was able to describe accurately what had been happening. He also examined my wound and found it to be in good condition, so unlikely to have picked up an infection. 

After a thoroughgoing conversation, his opinion was that my symptoms were those severe stress, due to the multiple traumas of changed flight bookings in the past week, plus the persistent effect of chronic low level pain from the wound, and not being able to sit and relax for any length of time. No medication needed, just rest, and herb teas, he suggested! 

As I've not been into Ibiza before and have no idea of where Can Misses hospital is, it felt surreal to step out on to the hospital concourse, a rather anonymous place, and no know how to recognise a taxi rank. I was advised however to ask the receptionist to call one for me which I did, and get back to the house just before midnight. I slept ten and a half hours, and think I'll have to spend the rest of today, lying on the bed doing as little as possible out of range of normal communications devices.

I got the medical examination and reassurance I needed, and could have done with when travel plans first fell apart. Sooner or later the impact of these uncontrollable events catch up on you, even if you're covid-19 free, and think you're doing OK. For the moment, the headache is a reminder that I'm not as good as I thought I was. 

State of Alarm - day Sixty Six

That was the first night since I have been here, that I failed to sleep, or at least it felt like it. Remind me not to listen to the news last thing at night in future. It leaves me feeling so outraged and upset, in contrast to the long succession of peaceful nights I've had in this house, with the moon shining in through the shutters, and the occasional owl or other mysterious spooky bird in the distance.

'Onwards and upwards', as the saying goes. I made an effort to go and do my weekend shopping at 'Es Cuco' before lunch. For the first time I had to queue outside before being admitted. I didn't mind as I had a tiny sliver of shade under the shop's toldo to shield me from the bright hot sun, 26C today. I couldn't find soya milk - probably looking in the wrong place, and I forgot to buy a pack of beer, so after lunch I walked down to Sumo to get these. 

In between times I got to work on next week's Acts Chapter 19 bible study. It was very interesting to research, and got me reflecting on aspects of the content of the Acts which Pentecostal theologian Professor Walter Hollenweger taught his mission seminar students about in the Selly Oak Colleges thirty five years ago. He was a remarkable man, having found his faith in a post war Pentecostal church and being blessed with a remarkable inquisitive intellect. His published doctorate reviewed the field-work he'd done investigating third world Pentecostal churches, which contributed to the development of poor communities in an amazing way, through literacy and agricultural education schemes, often branded 'communist by US client states. I first heard him talk about third world Pentecostalism at a student conference in the early seventies. 

Maybe my memory is faulty, but I have a recollection that his formation as a theologian was influenced by Karl Barth, one of the great 20th century protestant reformers of thought. He offered students a very different way into thinking about biblical truth, not abstract and idealistic but rooted in the foundations of Hebrew thinking and acting. There's still a lot to learn!

I had a call from a congregation member who's been accompanying the family and friends of a friend suffering from coronavirus, who'd finally succumbed. He's been asked to go with them to the crematorium and 'say a few words'. It's what people often say when they ask a Funeral Director to recruit a parson for them, a trusted role which is a privilege to occupy and which I often do at home willingly. The trauma which the family has experienced seemed to me not to call for a stranger to be inserted into their time of grief, when there was a trusted Christian friend there with them, so I offered some resources from scripture and the Anglican prayer book for use at the crem. At my age, I'm less interested in performing my traditional role than I am in encouraging and supporting others as they are drawn into ministry by the Spirit. If we don't, I think the church will die anyway.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Five

I was enjoying a bright hot sunny morning on the day I was supposed to be taking a delayed flight home at the end of my locum duty here.

Then I had a call from Kath telling me that the Jet2 flight, the fifth re-booked flight in a matter of three weeks, the one she booked for me yesterday, has already been cancelled. Another blow, but what bad luck. If I had hummed and aahed over the booking and slept on it first, this wouldn't have happened. More hassle.

What we think is happening is that UK government policy about enforcing two weeks quarantine on people arriving from UK flights is actually deterring people from booking flights, not so much short stay holiday makers as business and domestic travellers wanting to return home or go to their jobs after a long time away. If there's not enough to cover the cost of running the flight, it gets cancelled. None of the airlines seem willing to be honest with the public and keep promoting flight bookings competitively as if it was still 2019. Such competition to get people's booking money in the face of a global crisis, instead of partnership is a lethal recipe for a dark anarchic future.

As Kath and Lucy run Wriggledance Theatre from their home offices, they are very skilled at digital research. Kath set about investigating which regular scheduled UK flights are running to judge from the published flight arrival boards of various airports, and seeing how that matched up with flight prices being asked - the higher, means the greater demand. It seems that Barcelona has a couple of daily flights to London which do run and are well populated. So, with the same connecting flight to Barcelona from here cancelled on 28th April I have a flight from Barcelona to London on 16th June.

I am not confident it will run given the inability of the British Home Secretary to think coherently about the consequences for travellers and airlines of anything she says in a market driven economy.
The way things are, I am being denied the right of return to the country of which I'm supposed to be a citizen. Sure this is an over-riding crisis time, but no thought seems to have been given to actually testing people as they arrive, or having a set up where they are tested before they board and receive a bio-passport, valid for travel within a limited time frame. Too much effort? Wait and see whether the entire British airline industry goes out of business or not.

Although very upset, I made an effort to complete the Sunday service and send it to Dave for web uploading. Early for a change. That at least took my mind off the anger and frustration I feel. I still find it hard to believe the country voted in this government so decisively, plus I am appalled that brexit was voted through as a consequence. Britain has vainly done its own thing rather than work in close partnership with the EU over covid 19, so the UK now has the highest death rate as the price paid for an 'independence' of thought which has not served Britain well at all. 

The temperature rose to 27c in the afternoon when I finished work and headed out for my walk. Not exactly the best conditions. But I have learned that I need to drink far more water to avoid feeling even worse. Clare has written to Kevin Brennan our local MP to ask if he will take up the case with the Foreign and Commonwealth Office of stranded expats let down by airlines needing repatriation now a couple of months after the last repatriation flight left because the reason their reason for not leaving at the time no longer applies. There are Brits domiciled in Ibiza stuck in the UK as well as some others like me, stuck here. Fr Rhys's wife Eluned is an Assembly Member and she has agreed to pursue this through the WAG. I doubt whether any action will ensure, but the government needs to know that their ill considered policies have real world consequences, and that they will be called to account for their foolishness eventually.

Listening to Home Sceretary Priti Parel sounding off on the late evening news before bed made me realised that her words will serve as a deterrent even to existing scheduled flights. I desperately hope mine will run, but my confidence about this is very low. I will rejoice if proved wrong.

Nevertheless, as long as I have to stay, I can continue offering the on-line services until it proves possible to have real proper church celebrations again. It can't be rushed, Everyone is nervous in the wake of two months lock-down. Preparation and planning will take time and much care. I will be ready for whatever comes up. That's my job.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Four

A beautiful hot summery day today, bright sunshine and blue skies, with the temperature rising to 26c, just the way I like it. Perfect for celebrating Ascension Day. For the first time in a couple of months I saw the condensation trail of a high flying jet crossing the sky, north west to south west. Just the one long distance flight. In the past couple weeks I've seen a small pale green prop driven monoplane flying around and wondered what it was doing. I've recently learned that it's on fire watch. 

There are observation towers out in forest high places, staffed at critical dry times in the year, but also this aircraft which patrols over the entire island, sometimes responding to complaints about local fires. Farmers will tidy up their land and burn what they don't need and can't store in spring until the end of April, early May, but then the land dries out and the fire risk rises, so burning is banned, and the man in the 'plane keeps an eye on all the vulnerable places.

Palm Sunday weekend, I did a little video in which I blessed this year's Palm Crosses and proposed that they could be received once the lock-down was over. We had no idea then when it would happen but it this year's cross, although it looks like every other, would hold special memories of a time in our journey of faith unlike any other. With easing of restrictions allowing small domestic gatherings it was possible to invite church members to come and collect theirs from the Chaplaincy House and stop for a drink and a chat, while observing social distancing - possible because of the generous and sunny front terrace. During the morning half a dozen people came. I enjoyed meeting new people and the conversations we had. Hopefully this will continue next week and thereafter.

When I checked my phone before lunch afterwards, there was another text message from British Airways cancelling the flight booked for 8th June, That's the fourth. Kath once more undertook to source another flight for me. It's impossible to have any confidence in BAe commitment to serve their European clientele, so she has booked me on a Jet2 flight to Birmingham on 18th June. This flight has been bookable for the past month, once Jet2 announced that they would resume services mid month, in line with the resumption of Schengen open borders policy.

British Airways has been proposing flights and then cancelling them without recourse to the facts. Ibiza airport re-opened to commercial flights last Monday, a date announced only last week, so it's clear that BAe has been speculating and playing with its customers once it has taken their money. It's really shameful behaviour for a flagship British institution. To hell with them. I won't trust them to get me home after this. Ever. I am going to see if I can get his matter raised in Parliament, as the lack of honesty is going to undermine any attempts to keep out airline industry afloat.

Later in the afternoon, I walked down to Cala des Torrents, and found a road I hadn't been on before which linked up with roads I had been on before, so another small piece of my map of the areas falls into place. I made a few pots of strawberry jam after supper, having been given a large punnet of strawberries in the morning by one kind visitor, too many to eat while in their best condition but perfect with a couple of lemons from the tree outside for turning into a fragrant flavoursome jam. Now that's something I didn't expect to be doing when I woke up on Ascension morning! Amazing that this morning I should also be given a fresh baked batch of scones by another visitor. My cup runneth over!

   

State of Alarm - day Sixty Three

I woke up to a lovely warm day and got up slowly, thinking of the Ascensiontide prayer video that I started preparing late last night. Things can be better to return to after sleep, and fortunately this was so when it came to completing the text. As there was a slight breeze, catching the trailing vine and the lemon tree at the front of the house, I positioned my HX90 where it could see both, and set about recording. 

After half a minute a car and some cyclists passed. Stopped and re-started. Then another half a minute into recording another car in the opposite direction. This time I paused to let it go past, then repeated the section which was being drowned out. It's what I have to do when I make a mistake with audio, and edit the errors out later, so why not with video? It was easier said than done. 

The Windows 10 video editing app is simply laid out, but far less easy to use than the old Windows Movie Maker which I have at home. There's simply not enough on screen help to use its editing tools, or it presumes you know exactly how it works. Well, you learn by trial and error hands on. Who wants to spend ages on YouTube bombarded by irrelevant ads and suggested videos, just to access a simple 'how to' guide? 

In my vocabulary the word 'trim' refers to removal of some kind of excess - hair, overgrown hedge -

using the 'trim' tool left me with only the bit of video I didn't want. How perverse is that! After several attempts, I worked out how to remove the redundant section of video, and then it was ready for uploading. Will I retain this information the next time I come to use it?

After a late lunch, I walked to the village nearest to the house, 3.5km away, St Agosti des Vedrà. It's perched on a ridge above the main road, with the 19th century Parish Church in a prominent position with a large patio just up from the village store. The whole area is being re-paved at the moment, in a way that complements the essential simplicity of the building. Its architecture is in the traditional Ibiceno style, thick fortress like walls with tiny square windows, like the older houses. In fact, I could only find one window in the north wall and none at all in the south. I'd love to have seen the interior, but it was locked. There was a notice stating that a capilla could be found at the east end of the building for personal prayer.

As with other churches I've seen here, the priest's house is behind the sanctuary, with its front door opening on to a patio with a tree shaded garden area beyond that. The door was open, and the lobby inside had been turned into a prayer room. I'm not sure how that would work in terms of social distancing, but in a country village few people would visit at the same time anyway. I wondered if a priest lived in the house or perhaps a caretaker, and if it was possible for people to arrange to consult with him. My photos are here.

State of Alarm - day Sixty Two

I'm still needing a lot of extra sleep at the moment, returning to bed and dozing for another hour after morning prayer and breakfast, eight and a half hours if not more. It seems to be doing me good, I think I'm starting to decompress now, and can work at things without getting stressed.

This morning's 'Thought for the Day' on Radio Four was from Dr Jane Leach, principal of Wesley House, Cambridge. She's one of the Beeb's regulars and usually original and insightful. Like most of the contributors at the moment she was reflecting on her experience of lock-down, working from home, looking after the kids. 

She spoke about how time-out changed perspectives on life in, but also how invasive fatigue has started to creep in. Lock-down made space to do new things and be creative, but some ambitions don't come to fruit. There's still not enough time in the day, but worst of all is the depletion of energy as time goes on. 

She said how important it was not to struggle against this, but to yield, accept the tiredness, simply to let go, let God keep you safe. 'Underneath are the everlasting arms' as it says in Deuteronomy. It was such a blessing to hear this. It 'spoke to my condition', as Quaker George Fox would have said. If you struggle you risk depression and burn-out, the very things to avoid in a time of crisis. Well, this much I have learned, or maybe it's just my survival instinct, having lived and worked under pressure for many years, just like my father when he held key safety responsibilities underground. I well remember him saying to me as a teenager; "Whatever you do, don't take a job in a production industry. Your life is never your own." I saw the sense in this but didn't escape. The world into which I emerged became preoccupied with productivity or creativity in every direction, even the church. It was an effort and a challenge to learn just how to be.

Refreshed and relaxed, I enjoyed finishing off this week's bible study, and then putting together a BCP Communion service for Ascension Day, this Thursday, and then thinking about making a little prayer video for Ascensiontide as well. Everything's easier when I start in good time and don't have to rush. After lunch, I drove to St Josep to do some grocery shopping, then filled up seven canisters of drinking water, and returned, feeling pleased with the achievement, and went for a pleasant walk down to the sea shore and back. Rest, exercise, another attempt at an early night .. life continues and may even improve if I can figure out how not to overdo it.

My friend Roy, over in Alicante has recently been working on a project called 'Ideas World Cup 2020' inviting innovative young people to think of creative initiatives that could help the world get through the covid-19 pandemic. A fifteen year old lad from Cardiff is one of the finalists, proposing an idea that harnesses digital phone technology to virtual running events in cities around the world. An extension of what Clare is familiar with down the gym, where the treadmill screen lets you exercise at your own pace in scenic places, to forestall boredom. In principle it has a much lower carbon footprint than any current running tourism event. Amazing!

  

State of Alarm - day Sixty One

A good night's sleep, and a quiet time of worship, which included listening to BBC Radio Four's Sunday Service, as well as praying the Offices of Matins and Holy Communion. This morning radio service reflected on the seven fold gifts of the Spirit, and offered profound food for thought. 

Prepared by a Scottish team, it's the second time in recent weeks that I've listened to a non liturgical non-Eucharistic act of worship from Catholic presenters. As there are plenty of on-line streamed Masses available for people to attend, it's really good Catholic broadcast media isn't duplicating these offerings but creatively stepping out of comfortable routine, drawing on the immense wealth of spirituality which perhaps would only be easily accessible to people in an organised retreat, or else willing to go on line and hunt for it. It's true we've all got more time to think at the moment, what's impressive is the quality of the offerings being made by faith communities.

This morning the impulse returned to work on my short-story-turned-into-a-novel again. I had intended to write more while I was here but this is only the second time I have loaded the file in fifteen weeks. Funny how it's possible to get into the flow write thousands of words and forget to insert chapter headings! That's where I left it back in February. What I needed to do, was to help Clare who is reading the first draft to navigate the second half of the 73k words of text.

When I was out walking yesterday I understood what I needed to write in order to turn the story towards conclusion. I only had a vague idea up until now. It's grown and grown as the lives of the characters have unfolded in my imagination since I started writing seven months ago. It was quite a surprise that it developed the way it did, and so easily.

I found it refreshing to work on something different and creative, just for the sake of it. Eventually I went out for my daily walk, and just had enough time for supper before our family Zoom call, so refreshing to see them all enjoying each other's company again.

Confirmed in the news this evening is that the Spanish government is re-opening eight airports to commercial flights as of tomorrow. Ibiza is one of them. The national State of Alarm with phased removal of restrictions depending on regional infection rates, and government powers to act without consultation have been further extended for two weeks, so there's no guarantee that airport opening will not be reversed if conditions require. Does it mean British Airways will now honour my home flight booking for the 8th June? I don't trust them. Pero ya veremos.

  

State of Alarm - day Sixty

The emotional upheaval of two flight cancellations in four days has left me feeling drained, needing to hunt for resilience, which normally I don't lack. Thankfully I am sleeping well and have plenty of physical energy, but any time I stop to think during the day, I start to doze off. So I need to yield to this and take a few days retreat. 'Underneath are the everlasting arms' as Deuteronomy 33.27 says. Stopping, relaxing, being silent, being attentive to life's simple physical rhythms and not pushing at anything, a bit like floating instead of swimming. Not easy if you're nervous about sinking!

After breakfast, I walked down to the sea shore road at Cala de Bou and found a bay I hadn't visited before. The shore line is built up with holiday apartments, but there's not a great expanse of beach, as it's very rocky, with old eroded volcanic material I think. What did catch my eye was one of the five island 17th century watch towers, constructed like others on Spain's Mediterranean shore at a time when Berber pirates from North Africa were a significant threat in the region. I have seen them on remote cliff top promontories and just above isolated beaches. I took a long range photo of one we could see further south along the coast when we climbed St Josep sa Atalaya on Wednesday. This one is set against a development of holiday apartments, thoroughly domesticated. 

In the evening, Kath Anto and Rhiannon invited family and friends to a WhatsApp party to share in the streamed replacement programme for this year's cancelled Eurovision song contest, called 'Love Shine a Light', bringing  artists together via a live video link from all the 42 participating countries. It wasn't a competition, and only featured extracts from all the songs which would have taken part. It featured solidarity greetings from artists and musicians involved, a few of them veterans of the contest 40-50 years ago. A superb idea, brilliantly executed technically speaking, the message simply being, a morale boosting 'We'll keep on singing, we will survive this together.' 

I watched with interest, even though most of the music and performances were not to my taste, I love the energy of young enthusiastic artists. I had no energy to participate in the WhatsApp fiesta. Apparently over four hundred messages were exchanged in a couple of hours. Morale was definitely boosted back home. And across Europe and the rest of the watching world, I hope.

State of Alarm - day Fifty Nine

Another decent night's sleep, but waking up feeling tired again. I continued working on the Sunday service service after breakfast, and not long after I'd got started, I had another text message from British Airways to say that my flight into London City Airport on June 1st is cancelled. Before my head stated spinning with that 'out of control' feeling of anxiety - which I didn't need with half a day's work ahead of me and not much energy left after Wednesday's airline fracaso, I took Kath up on her promise to deal with re-booking, and fight my corner for me, and forwarded the text message to her immediately.

Perhaps it is because she has fast broadband and is in the UK, or because BAe have fixed their page loading problem, but this time she got on to the re-booking page immediately, and booked a place on a IBX-LCY flight on June 8th instead. That's now three cancellations in ten days.

Will June 8th be repatriation day? I have no confidence left in BA's proposals. No doubt the changing statistics of the pandemic both in Ibiza and UK create new uncertainties all the time. There are probably not enough people wanting to fly in or out of Ibiza to London to make the cost of a two way flight with social distancing viable.

Schengen open border provisions are supposed to be resumed on June 15th, and after that date some measure of a return to scheduled flights is being proposed. We'll see if it's delivered by any airline, let alone BA. If only they had enough moral integrity as a company to advise people of the fluidity of the situation. They'll take your money and cancel your flight often enough to make you wonder if you'd unwittingly fallen into one of those covid-19 scams.

This means I'll have to obtain prescription medication again, and this time around wound dressings as well, as I am likely to run out of all I brought with me by then. I have made a two month's supply stretch to three so far, as the wound has been easier to manage. Meanwhile I have to cope with the emotional exhaustion associated with such a roller-coaster ride, and it's certainly taking it's toll on me. If I wasn't fit and well enough to get two hours of fresh air and exercise each day, I dread to think what kind of state I'd be in. Space to adjust and resign myself to a situation I have no control over, is all I need at the moment.

Once I'd completed most of the work needed on the Sunday service, I walked to Sumo supermarket to get a few things I couldn't find at Es Cuco, and returned with a heavy rucksack of supplies to see me through the weekend. Staff there are also cheery and pleasant. No doubt they are glad to be able to work when so many cannot. The positivity of people in the face of such a deadly crisis with such an uncertain future ahead is quite inspirational. I wonder what it's like in BA's back offices?

State of Alarm - day Fifty Eight

I woke up to rain and it rained on and off until mid afternoon, then dried up nicely, as it wasn't too cold. After the emotional upheaval of yesterday, thankfully, I slept quite well, but all today I have been tired and short tempered (thank heavens I am living on my own at the moment), struggling to get work done and yet still managing to be productive.

After breakfast I did a little discursive prayer video, for a significant day. Pope Francis along with other religious leaders of the world called for a global day of prayer about the pandemic. Last night a lovely little promotional video with clips of dozens of people praying in different languages. This included our own chaplain in Nerja, Nigel Thomas, praying in Welsh. That pleased me no end! It gave me the idea of contributing, using the discursive prayer format, which I've been getting used to over the past month, and shooting the video clip using my HX90, as the sound reproduction is good.

Choosing a setting with not much time to think about it or plan properly was frustrating at first, but I ended up with the camera on a box on the table on the back terrace, pointing into the trees around the garden, occasionally waving gently, with the occasional background birdsong. It would have been nice to have had the sound of rain in the background, but dampness at that moment had no audio profile. It took me three goes to get a clear run at it, either because of passing car noise - so much more now than previously - or because I kept stumbling over words, sabotaged by tiredness. All was well in the and, and I had some appreciative feedback later, after Dave posted the YouTube link to the chaplaincy website.

Then I made an effort to bring together as many of the strands of the Sunday service as I could with the aim of getting it completed earlier this week and under less pressure. I guess I got two thirds of it done, before the call of daily exercise got me moving, first in the direction of Es Cuco to shop for food, and then out on a walking circuit past the large school complex, which I knew would enable me to reach my daily 10k target.

Next to the supermarket by the school is a small cafe/bar. It was open with four tables and maybe eight chairs between them, the whole area cordoned off so there was one point of access. I didn't count the number of people outside, socialising at a distance, but I guess it was about half a dozen. It was sweet music to hear laughter and banter in the air, people making an effort to stay safe and be their normal selves in such trying circumstances. The staff in Es Cuco are all properly kitted out but their manner is friendly and relaxed. Amazing what attitude can do to reduce a sense of isolation. 

State of Alarm - day Fifty Seven

After breakfast Solveig arrived to take me on a 10km hike to the summit of St Josep sa Talaia, the 475m peak which overlooks the whole island. The 'Talaia' part is a contraction of 'Tailaissa', a Catalan word for a watchtower, applied to tallest peaks in a region. Not only is this one the highest in Ibiza, but also in the Balearics. Another warm sunny day with superb visibility for the climb. 

Relaxation of restrictions now allows two of us to ride in the same car, both wearing mascarillas, windows open, the passenger sitting in the back. The road leading up to the mountainside track starts about a kilometer from the village. After a kilometer on a metalled side road, an unmetalled road climbs upwards, then goes along the ridge at the top where the big telecoms towers for the island are located. The views in each direction are stunning. I can see why church folk love to climb up here on Ascension Day to pray for the people of Ibiza. My photos are here

The only off road traffic was a couple of telecoms vans. I think there were six of them up there, carrying the work-team installing new equipment up there, probably high capacity kit to serve the purposes of fibre-optic broadband which is now being rolled out, even in rural areas. Solveig's husband Fabian was saying on Monday how this could make a big difference to the island economy in future, with the inevitable collapse of mass tourism. The hospitality industry will find a way to re-invent itself, and more people will want to work from home digitally in a very congenial setting. If people need to commute less by car, this will have a positive impact on the environment.

Just as we passed under the tall twin towers at the highest point, I had a phone call from Kath. She said she'd been conversing with BAe helpline staff during the morning on my behalf, complaining the web re-booking page failure, and getting fobbed off with excuses that they could only deal with me as ticket holder, although she had gave them information provided by me for the purpose. She persisted in pestering them as a way of drawing public attention to their service to clients. Another traveller spotted her tweets, saying they'd experienced exactly the same problem with this flight re-booking. So no equipment fault could be attributed to our digital devices.

She rang again just after we returned to the house for lunch, announcing triumphantly that finally she had re-tried the booking page and gained access. There was still a June 1st flight, but to London City Airport in the evening, so she booked that. Will it run? We shall see. I daresay the complaints about the rogue page had pushed the back office staff into investigating and troubleshooting in between our mountain top phone call and our lunchtime call. 

My darling Kath loves a challenge of this kind and doesn't take no for an answer. It's a great relief to have had her do that much for me. I'm not sure that I could take that level of stress, as I have so little confidence left in the way an corporate giant of the aviation industry deals with people in moments of crisis. Owain has pointed out that in his experience smaller airlines are better at customer relations, not simply because they have fewer clients, but that they are motivated to hold on to them and let their good reputation grow. Well, we always used to say 'Small is beautiful'.

The rest of the day just slipped away with updating people and catching up on the craziness of the past twenty four hours. Tomorrow I'll be catching up on preparations for Sunday. So on it goes!

   

State of Alarm - day Fifty Six

Lovely warm weather again today, but I needed to make an early start on a sermon for next Sunday's service, as co-incidentally this week's bible study is on the same passage Acts 17, set for the first lesson, Paul in Athens. There's a lot to say about this and I'd rather not repeat myself, so it will need extra thought to make it edifying for those who listened to the bible study and those who didn't. It's an unusual challenge.

Just before I was about to break for lunch I received a text message from British Airways to say that my flight to Heathrow on 1st June was cancelled. It referred me to their re-booking web page to go through the same rigmarole as I went through a week ago, to secure another flight. Except that this time the page refused to load. I tried it on a couple of different devices and got the same result. No point in phoning up as the waiting time for a response with a long queue of distressed disappointed passengers could be many expensive hours of waiting. 

I chatted with Kath about this. She tried the re-booking service using my flight booking reference and got the same result. She looked up alternative flights, and found a Jet2 to Birmingham on the 17th or 18th June, if all else failed, but promised that she would attempt to contact BA using Twitter and their Direct Messaging service tomorrow. 

This turn of events really upset me. So many people to inform, here there and everywhre. It's been hard enough to map out the end of my ministry time here and prepare to run the contagion gauntlet of air travel in order to get home to a less active future, then suddenly all this is in the air again, and a different set of plans have to be thought out. After lunch, I decided to abandon work and walk to St Antoni's Banco Santander ATM and withdraw some euros to pay my debts with. Unfortunately I underestimated the distance. I thought it was 4km when it's 7km from here. It was probably a good idea to tire myself out so I'd have no energy left to worry with. 

In the evening I didn't get much done. I found myself thinking of people down the ages displaced by war or plague, or economic migration not knowing how they were going to reach the place of safety or secure life prospects they were hoping for. I'm so used to life going according to plan with only a few minor setbacks along the way, flights delayed, bus services not running to time, major traffic congestion delays, all with limited consequences. 

Last year, waiting for minor surgical operations which never seemed to happen quite when intended, being nearly forgotten by hospital admin, was bad enough. It taught me how to be a patient, and to be patient, and wait many weeks not knowing for the first time in my life. Now I have a rough idea of how to come to terms with big disruptions if I have to. At the moment, so many unknowns and such a climate of uncertainty mean that things you thought you could rely on you may not be able to. Everything feels like a game of chance. 

For most of my life I believe I have been risk-averse. It took a finance consultant quizzing me about retirement investment ten years ago to help me to see this about myself. I've been way out of my comfort zone since leaving home this time, far more than I could have expected or wanted to risk. There was a call to minister here and once I'd said yes, there was no turning back, especially as the risk of doing so accelerated by the day when there was still widespread denial or ignorance of the nature of the pandemic threat. There's no escape from uncertainty if I do get home eventually, as it's far less safe in UK than it is on Ibiza. Not knowing how long I have to remain here, in order simply to get used to the thought is hardest to live with tonight.

  

State of Alarm - day Fifty Five

Today was the first opportunity to benefit from the easing of lock-down restrictions in Ibiza's rural areas. Solveig drove over after finishing her shopping run mid morning, and I followed her back to their finca in the deep countryside north of St Antoni, a journey of about 20km from the chaplain's house. We stopped on the ascent through the hills so that Solveig could point out the trajectory of devastation through the forests, left by the tornado which hit the island six months ago. It's the first time I've seen damage of that kind on that scale.

Fabian and Solveig live in the commune of Sta Agnès de Corona, up a kilometre of bumpy track off the narrow winding road through the hills. It's a community of scattered farms, and the centre of the village is hardly built up at all. There's a restaurant, a bar and the traditional style of parish church with a flat roof, few doors and windows, and a two storey clergy house behind the sanctuary. Thanks to the flat roof the residents have a large south facing terrace.

The cool dark church is open again for private prayer, though not yet for Masses. Pews have already been marked with white arrows to indicate where people may sit at a safe distance between them. Sta Agnès occupies a colourful niche with baroque angels behind the free standing altar. I couldn't help telling Solveig about my pilgrimage to the catacombi de Santa Agnesi in Rome, with my local Roman Catholic colleague Fr Mike Healey, when I was Vicar of St Agnes in Bristol forty two years ago. I've always had a soft spot for her martyrdom story, a teenage resister of forced marriage with a passionate sense of the freedom Christ gave her in baptism. 

Where the old high altar used to stand, in Sta Agnès church, the wall beneath the niche has been painted with a simple naive mural depicting hundreds of almond trees in blossom, this is one of the crops which flourish here in abundance. During the Civil War, agitators from the mainland came over and desecrated churches. setting fire to the old baroque altarpiece. Fortunately the priest was ahead of the vandals, spirited Sta Agnès away from the church and hid her in a traditional conical haystack for the duration of hostilities. 

Eventually when the church was restored, Sta Agnès once more took pride of place, freshly painted and with her niche reconstructed and decorated in the way the priest had remembered it in times past. A lovely story. Sta Agnès is her name in Catalan, but in Castellano, I discovered, it's Sta Inez, which reminded my of Mrs Inez Smith, wife of Charlie Smith the bus driving NSM of the parish. Both were Jamaican, but I think she might have been a girl from Spanishtown Ja. After all these years, I join the dots and see a picture I didn't see before.

The house Fabian and Solveig live in is one of the oldest in their area, several hundred years old. It runs on solar electricity, with rainwater collection and waste water recycled to feed their orchard and vegetable. Rather than hack the building about to 'modernise' it, they decided to live with the original layout of rooms with low narrow doors and small windows, with a main sala opening out on to a courtyard through double doors (adding glazed double doors internally later, with a solid canopy for outside shade. A house with thick walls that stays cool and takes advantage of breezes, so important in the months of summer heat. The main concession to the desire for more natural light internally is to insert a glazed panel into the glass roof in a couple of rooms. It works well. 

There's a swimming pool, where swallows like to dip and drink on the wing, and a giant fig tree all of fifteen metres in diameter, what a wonderful shady place! I was their first house visitor after two months of social isolation. Thankfully they had obtained broadband via landline which they had to dig a 100m trench for themselves., and it's old type copper medium, though fibre-optic should be with them soon. For many people in remote areas this will be a domestic life changer. 

There are few cell network towers in such a sparsely populated area, so getting a mobile 'phone signal involves a walk to a vantage point, or else put up with slow wi-fi speeds. The pace of life is that much slower in any case, so maybe it doesn't make that much difference until government or business start to presume everyone has decent internet access. With every new technological development a new 'digital divide' emerges somewhere, either predictably or unexpectedly.

After Kaffee und Kuchen - vegan carrot cake with chocolate sauce to be precise, Solveig and I went for a two hour walk right up to the forestry fire-watch tower, and to the edge of the cliff overlooking a rocky bay which is actually quite close to where they live, but hidden from sight in their valley. The sea was deep blue fringed with turquoise along the shore. It was breath-taking in every sense, as an exhilarating wind came in off the sea to greet us. After a long slow stony climb through the pine forest, it was such a surprise to emerge so suddenly with a view westwards which at sunset might give us a glimpse of sierras on the Costa Blanca behind Denia.

On the way back down to the car, I learned about scarred tree trunks and pine resin collection, and was shown the abandoned sites of traditional Ibizan bee hives, small constructions of stone slabs with clay lined interiors and layers of pine needles for insulation. Also in the forest the still solid remains of a traditional lime-kiln. Quick-lime and charcoal were two of the islands export products from ancient times, apparently. There's so much to see, when you know how to look!

After a walk of nearly seven kilometres, we had lunch, huge doradas perfectly cooked in a smoke box with a salad from produce grown in the kitchen garden, followed by more Kaffee und Kuchen and most enjoyable conversation with two people who show what it is, to the best of their ability to develop a low carbon footprint lifestyle and still be rooted in the modern world. It involves them both in a fair amout of hard physical labour in the fresh air from time to time, but that must surely be preferable to paying out for gym membership to stay fit and healthy?

It was gone six when I made my way home. I missed a turning by the Mercadona in St Antoni that was confusingly signed (in my opinion), and was taken on a long detour through narrow streets until I could turn around and return to where I'd gone wrong. Nothing was lost, however, as it gave me a view of a part of town I wouldn't otherwise make an effort to visit. Cramped and ugly is a simple way to describe it. The kind of urban development the world doesn't need any more, never needed, in fact. It's what happens when profitability saps human reason.

Nothing could take away from the beauty of today's time en el campo, however. My photos are here

  

State of Alarm - day Fifty Four

Clouds, wind and rain greeted me when I got up this morning. Yesterday's line of washing I hadn't brought in at sunset as I thought it was a bit damp. Well, it's no damper and thankfully not soaked as the washing lines are just under the back terrace canopy.

I prayed, and listened to BBC Radio Four's Sunday Worship programme, with the Bishop of London officiating and Archbishop Rowan Williams reflecting on VE day commemoration, celebrating also the life and work of Florence Nightingale in public health sphere, especially relevant in the light of the covid-19 crisis. 

Dom Trulan, an army veteran and holder of the George Cross also spoke of the qualities which had enabled a generation of soldiers to defeat evil and build lasting peace in Europe. He affirmed the high quality of organisation and discipline in civilian and military bodies which provided a secure foundation and framework for everyone to rise to the challenge and give their best. What was true seventy five years ago, he said, is true of the NHS today on the front line of the pandemic battle. It was all well said, and steered my thoughts as I prayed through the texts of the Eucharistic Word and Sacrament of the day.

When I stepped outside to go for my morning exercise stint (late again), it was raining, but I kept going, although I hate getting wet, as the air would be extra fresh and do me good. Besides the birds were singing cheerily, as if it was just dawn, not five hours later. As soon as the rain stopped, small birds emerged from shelter and flew around. Some perched in rain puddles and drank. Dry weather leaves them with only the occasional farmyard rainwater tank to drink from, or waiting until it the weather cools enough for dew to form so they can drink.

After lunch I finished the weekly bible study and recorded it before going out for a walk, and then recorded the bible passage in the evening, after the family Zoom meeting, which this week went on for an hour and a quarter, instead of forty minutes. Not sure why, but it was a real tonic to see them all, full of good humour.

For the past week there has been considerable confusion about what the easing of restrictions here actually mean. It's clear they are designed to manage large populations in densely crowded areas and this doesn't make sense in rural areas. A document issued by a local community association has now clarified matters and makes sense. Thinly populated rural municipalities with populations of less than 5000 are not subject to all the restrictions applying in urban areas. It'd be unenforceable given the limits on manpower and the need to concentrate on problem concentrations of people.

Time and age schedules for those doing sports or taking their daily paseo in rural districts are done away with. Meetings of small numbers of people, not of the same family are permitted. Heaven help anyone trying to hold a party however. I suspect their neighbours would denounce them. Nobody in their right minds wants the virus or lock-down to return. 

This good news should make quite a difference to my remaining weeks here.

State of Alarm - day Fifty Three

I continued working on assembling tomorrow's audio files as I received the vital components from my trusty lesson readers. I'd like to extend the range of voices, but that relies on people having the confidence to read into their smartphone as well as they read at the lectern on Sunday. I must rely on others to recruit volunteers for this, not having had the opportunity to get to know the full range of worshippers who might be pleased to be asked. The limitations of being a locum!

Getting started early any morning isn't easy. I wake up at first light and then go back to sleep, then I listen to BBC news, curious to see what's going to be said about the relief of current restrictions and by whom. I find myself vexed by BBC news presenters who persist in asking the heads of devolved national governments in Britain why their announcements on restriction impositions or relaxations run days or hours ahead of those made by the UK Prime Minister, and may indeed vary. Each time the interviewee has to explain that under law, devolved government has policy responsibilities that that also mean timetabling decision making independently of central government. 

This given fact could easily be explained in an introduction to any interview of this kind, rather than repeatedly have a presenter interrogate their guest. It reflects badly on the centralist bias of London based journalism. It's as if they don't believe Wales and Scotland ought to be able to exercise their own judgements unless it's done in lock-step with the chaotic crew running the Westminster show, pursued by lobbyists and fag-ending journos.

Listening to the Queen's VE commemoration day broadcast after breakfast was a comfort. Economy of words and images, the sense of continuity and the affirmation of the virtues that enabled Britain to survive five terrible years of continuing and deadly crisis during the Second World War. 

Yet again I was late starting and finishing my morning walk, as I had a load of washing to get started. I found another lane along which to walk parallel to the main road to Cala de Bou. On the return leg, I spotted a hoopoe flying through the pines at the side of the road. It was early evening before I emailed the audio files I had been working on for Dave to upload. It took me longer than I expected., as I try look for new music to include which won't over-inflate the file size.

Then, before supper, I walked down to Cala des Torrents and back. It's good exercise as there's quite a steep hill from the town up to the Es Cuco store. The variety of terrain is good for stretching my legs, as much of the walking I do is almost on the flat. Several families with young children were playing on the beach, and a handful of small boys were splashing in the shallows. I don't know if this is permitido under the lock-down relaxation rules but there was no sign of enforcers anywhere.

I got around to making hummous again before supper. I've been promising myself to do that since I cooked the chick peas some time last week. Last night I cooked a kilo of diced chicken breast. It'll do me four or five meals along with vegetables. Next advance cooking project is a big pot of lentil and butternut squash soup for Monday.

BBC 3 broadcasted an old recording of a performance of Janacek's opera Katya Kabanova from the Met this evening. Beautiful music, familiarly sad story, though I'm not sure we saw it when WNO performed it nine years ago.

  

State of Alarm - day Fifty Two

I saw the full moon descending toward the horizon and went back to sleep for a while, then got up at sunrise to listen to the dawn chorus - well, apart from the local blackbird singing its heart out, what I could mostly hear, now that my ears age getting attuned to it, is the sound of cocks crowing and peacocks crying from the poultry farm down the way.

It's the 75th anniversary of VE day today. News and comment focuses on how it is being observed in such unexpected circumstances, making good mention of the way people of that era, still alive now, are remembering and also reflecting on what's happening at the moment. The survivors run on gratitude, and take nothing for granted. They know they had a good life, even if they lose it any time soon. That's wisdom in old age for you. Not much whingeing around here.

One of the things I enjoy about walking everywhere is joining up different locations and paths in my mental map. So often new roads will take you one place directly, or else by-pass older narrower roads altogether. Walking an area you get to understand something of what shaped its ancient trails and what generations of road engineers have done on top of them since. This was an aspect of time spent on various locum duties along the coast from Malaga as far as Almunecar. Slowly I'm getting know the area within a 5km radius of Casa Capellania.

My morning walk today took me on local side roads through the neighbouring urbanizacion from here towards San Antoni, and then up past the extensive modern educational complex, which has primary, secondary schools and a sports centre all on the same huge site. Normally, I see this from the other side, walking up the un-metalled track. Now I've closed the circle and done the 5km circuit, and see how places fit together.

I found there's a small supermarket on the road, adjacent to the schools. I arrived just before the schools shut down, and saw students leaving at the end of their day from the track on the other side across the fields. I daresay local residents rely on the supermarket, but in the absence of hundreds of kids a day, five days a week, buying snacks, sweets or drinks, there's a huge loss of revenue. And now, installing bio-security measures in store has to be paid for as well. One economic nightmare among many, in a small seaside town on a popular holiday destination island. Scholars will return, but tourists - how long?

I spent some of the afternoon working on the sound file for this Sunday's service, then walked up to Es Cuco to do some grocery shopping before supper. In the hour before sunset lately I have noticed that there are more people out and about. You do notice when the road has been eerily silent for weeks, empty apart from the occasional dog walker. I went out to walk the last couple of kilometres of the day and was pleasantly surprised to see couples out walking, trail bike riders, a family of six and the occasional jogger out on the country lane. I don't think anyone is forgetting just how scary is the situation the country is in, but everyone needs to be outdoors in the fresh spring air, for the sake of sanity and well-being. The trouble is, sustaining strict discipline indefinitely, whatever the sanctions for non-compliance will end up causing other problems we may live to regret.
  

State of Alarm - day Fifty One

Another warm and sunny day, also the day of this month's full moon, a month when it looks a little larger in the heavens because it is a little closer to earth in its elliptical orbit. It's called the Flower Moon because this is the month which is arguably the best for flowering plants. The moon sets on my local horizon at about six in the morning at the moment. An hour or so earlier, it emerges from shadow to paint the bedroom with moonlight when there are no clouds. I don't bother with curtain closing, as the external shutters are set just right to let me enjoy this early light. I then tend to drift off to sleep again until it's time for BBC Radio Four's Thought for the Day, if I'm not already up and making breakfast.

This morning as I lay there pondering, I had this idea for videoing the discursive prayer I am now in the habit of writing weekly for the website, using the backdrop of the sun rising behind the trees over the arroyo/torrent beside the house. By the time I'd found a suitable position for the camera it was a bit later than I'd planned and the result wasn't quite as satisfactory as hoped for. A car passed by while I was recording. It didn't drown me out fortunately, and when I listened to it, I decided not to re-record it, simply because the passing car is a small sign of return to normality, and that's what I was praying about. 

I'm getting the hang of the simple editing app to prepare a video for upload to YouTube, and today's didn't take long. After breakfast I starting having ideas for next week's bible study, and started writing them, rather than getting out early in the morning time slot permitted for walking. It's a pity that my use of time can be erratic. I do have routine, but it's quite flexible, as I like to work on fresh ideas whenever they emerge. 

In the afternoon, I thought I'd do some garden tidying. The prickly colonising plant which spreads in the subsoil and then climbs over any plant it can get started on starts to spill over from lawns and flower bed on to the path, and gets more annoying. It's hard work to remove, as I learned last time I worked at ground level. Today I tackled the raised flower bed, which has a hibiscus bush in one corner entirely covered with this spiky horror, and the result was satisfying. Removing tiny shoots in the raised bed is important before trying to sort out weeds from established bushes and plants. I wish I knew more about gardening!

While I was donning gardening gloves I noticed there was a gecko in the bottom of a plastic bucket in the gardening closet. It seemed unable to climb the sides and escape. Geckoes normally have no trouble climbing vertical walls and running upside down across ceilings due to the extraordinary physical properties of their foot pads. Their adhesive power is due to microscopic static electricity charges enabling them to attach to other surfaces. Could it be that the plastic surface of the bucket didn't or couldn't hold a static charge I wonder? I turned the bucket on its side to let the creature escape and hide, and wondered what impact being unable to scale the bucket side would have on it.

I walked again before supper, exploring the edge of the ravine in the stretch of woodland between it and the road. Near the road crossing it's about fifteen metres deep, 400 metres long it's twice that with dangerous steep edges. Just before the road enters a the next urbanizacion there's a place which specialises in breeding poultry, with various species of hens, geese, ducks, guinea fowl, turkey and even peacocks visible when you pass by. I hadn't realised just how large the place is until I found one of its boundary walls, running down into the ravine enclosing an extensive area where various fowls are being kept, also some small cattle. It explains why the cries of the peacock can be heard a lot closer than seems reasonable given that it's almost a kilometre away by road. The sound travels up the ravine, along with the sound of several breeds of cockerel in the early morning. Intriguing!

After supper, and chatting with Clare, I started work on the Sunday service and sermon. I went out on the terrace just before bed and saw the full moon climbing up above the trees opposite. I wish I could identify the sounds of the night birds I hear. Definitely not poultry!

State of Alarm - day Fifty

I enjoyed a longer night of unbroken sleep than I have done in a long time, and was so relaxed it took me ages to wake up and get going. When I finally did, I had some ideas about next week's bible study to write with, and somehow the morning just slipped away, and it was three by the time I got outdoors and walking.

I explored the upstream edges of the ravine or torrent, as it's called locally, and which in Andalusia would be called an arroyo - basically a dry river bed, often overgrown with trees and bushes, where water may flow in times of deluge, but where normally the river runs underground through porous rock. I was looking for a possible footpath in or alongside the ravine, but couldn't find one. It was just too overgrown. Later, I walked a mile up the main road to the point where a road bridge crosses the torrent. There was no sign of footpath access here either, and yet, walkers who know the area say there is a footpath up the torrent somewhere... to be discovered another time.

Lock-down restrictions are to be eased further this coming weekend. It may even be possible for groups of people to meet who aren't relatives. It may be possible to make small plans for a social existence again. But we shall see. It all depends on infection rates continuing to drop.

State of Alarm - day Forty Nine

Now that it's possible within reasonable limits to get out and about every day, I decided it was time for me to make the effort of driving to San Antoni and getting some money from the Santander cash machine. Regardless of language the user interface on modern ATMs is generally user friendly, and in this case, once a UK card was registered, the dialogue priority was English. I think the last time I drove down to San Antoni was seven weeks ago. There was no question of not knowing where to go, where to park or how to work the machine, but inwardly I was nervous, and it was quite an effort to get myself out of the house and into the car equipped with mascarilla y guantes, plus hand-gel. 

I was nervous at being in a public place with others, nervous about appropriate behaviour, since I've had no practice since lock-down began, only going out when the streets were empty. Nervous having to think about correct, safe hygienic behaviour for my sake and the sake of others. Mindfulness and nervousness don't sit well together. It's the sort of thing prisoners released at the end of sentence worry about while they adjust to mundane life again. It's the sort of thing people with agoraphobia or obsessive compulsive disorders have to endure, with or without support. Such a jittery experience is not wasted, if it enables you to put yourself in the shoes of another. 

I parked the car down the far end of the marina, a ten minute walk from Banco Santander. A few of the wayside bars and restaurants were open and serving to clients sitting at socially distanced tables. Some masked municipality workers were out, the odd masked cyclist and unmasked elder making their morning paseo. The car park was almost full, but I found a place, and noticed that cars were coming and going fairly often, people visiting briefly for specific purposes maybe, but not staying around for long. People need time to get used to new routines by practicing them and then relaxing with them. Me too.

The neatly groomed beach along the road into town was deserted. I think I saw one Proteccion Civil vehicle, but no police at all. I guess the area is covered by CCTV, and Tuesday morning isn't like Saturday or Sunday, when people like to get out for a paseo and become a crowd that causes anxiety to the enforcers.

Anyway, mission accomplished. My card still works, and I was able to withdraw €200. It's cash I'll now need as I'm now going to resume shopping for myself. Ibiza covid-19 infection rates have stayed in check for several weeks, and lifting some restrictions, provided accepted precautions are still strictly observed, encourages me to think the risk level is acceptable. Whatever I do when I get back home it will be higher anyway!

While I was driving back my phone kept pinging. Back in the house I fielded a text message from British Airways telling me that my home flight to Gatwick, booked on 26th had been cancelled, and that I could book another to London at no extra cost. I was upset but not altogether surprised. Last night, the BA head of Gatwick operations was on the news saying that the airline was contemplating withdrawing all its services from the airport. Twelve hours later notification o flight cancellation arrived.

It directed me to a re-booking page I suspect had been hastily constructed overnight. It was crude and user-unfriendly. I had to hunt, date by date after the flight cancelled to find the next available flight to anywhere in London from Ibiza. No diary  with flight dates highlighted was available, like going back to booking fifteen years ago. A rush job, reflecting what BA would describe as a fast moving business situation, never mind the customers struggling to get their planning heads around changing circumstances.

So, I am now booked on a flight to Heathrow on the first of June instead. Rosi said BA never fly from Ibiza to Heathrow - a change of policy, or a flight which will turn out to be like some of the emergency flights, stopping over to collect and drop off passengers like an old style country bus. If we get to Heathrow, it will suit Kath and I much better, as it's half the Gatwick travel time back home to Wales.

I now have two additional Sundays of work here, more on-line services and bible studies to prepare. I'm happy about that. It may mean I can complete my guided tour of Acts, without having to compress the last third, and neglect stories worth examining. A detailed study of Acts with proper discussion is a year's job at least. My desire has been to enable bible study group members to look at the whole with fresh eyes, and see the unique transforming nature of what was going on in the stories Acts tells us. Get excited about the detail in the light shed by the big picture, is the message, but it's hard work when it's such a long and varied story.

Only recently I came across a testimony to the influence of Paul's teaching by a leading UK atheist intellectual - sorry don't remember his name - he identified Paul's advocacy of freedom, equality and human dignity as gifts unleashed on the world through the story of Jesus, as being the paradigm shift in changed self understanding which overthrew empires, led to the reformation, enlightenment and rise of modern science and technology. A very secular meaning to the grace revealed in Christ's Gospel, but I think he's right. It takes an outsider to recognise the true value and impact of all the church has struggled and often failed to teach, as it became socially acceptable to believe. 

After lunch, I walked down to the rocky lava covered seashore at Cala de Bou, and took photos of the Cormorant couple on the foreshore now rather than on the island. No sign of chicks however. On my return, before supper, I walked up to Es Cuco and did some shopping, having regained enough confidence to do so. On my last shopping visit here I was intercepted and questioned by police, still at the early stage of working out how to carry out enforcement, and how to identify idiots and dodgy geezers. Hoy, nadie. The shop wasn't busy, staff were kitted out properly and screened, and it was relaxed as friendly as ever, the changes taken in their stride. Long may they prosper!

After supper, another evening spent relaxing, listening to a Beethoven concert on BBC Radio Three. Slowly I am unwinding ...

State of Alarm - day Forty Eight

Another gloriously warm day. I was a little slow getting started this morning with a load of washing to do after breakfast, and then had an unexpected call from Owain just as I was about to set off on my morning walk, which put me behind schedule, not that it matters that much. There aren't many walkers out. More people go about business in cars on weekdays, it seems to me. Having completed this week's Bible Study last night, I recorded and edited it after lunch then emailed it to Dave for uploading.

I then drove up to the recycling point with a month's worth of sorted stuff to dispose of in the neatly ordered receptacles near 'Es Cuco'. After that I completed the second half of the day's walk. Rosi told me to look out for wild orchids, which appear at this time of year, but no luck so far, though I do see new flowers emerging which weren't there a month ago.

After supper, for a change, I relaxed on the bed, listening to the Leningrad Symphony number 7 by  Shostakovich, written as a memorial to those who died during the three year Nazi siege of city, over a million civilians and several million soldiers on both sides. I was fascinated to learn that it was performed in the city under siege in 1942, and that a microfilmed orchestra score was smuggled to the USA and performed there live a few months later under the direction of Arturo Toscanini. It is still performed in the city's cemetery in honour of the 600,000 war victims buried there. Great music in every sense of the word. 

I wonder how the world will remember covid-19 pandemic victims once monitoring, treatments and vaccines are universally available? It may be slowing down, but it's far from over. We have yet to see the impact this will have on very poor countries. Will it end up being as high as the fifty million victims of the 1918 pandemic?